A Mask Of Cold
by You-Just-Might
Summary: A series of one shots. Zammie! T for dark themes and (possible) language.


**Hey guys! So I am back. This is (hopefully) going to be a collection of ****one shots****. They will all be with the characters as spies, but they will not relate to each other unless I tell you otherwise. I may sometimes write a story that goes on for more than one chapter, but I think that will be a pretty rare occurrence. Some of the one shots will be happy, some will be sad, and some will be a mixture of both. They will most likely be Zammie for the majority of the stories. Now, I have said that this will hopefully be a collection of one shots. That is because I will only write more if you guys like this story, or the idea of the one shots in general. Please review to let me know what you think. At the end of this, I will give you some of the information for my updating schedule. So have fun, enjoy the story, and don't forget to review.**

"I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend."

-J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Two Towers_

* * *

The ash falls lightly over the ruins, coating the bodies at my feet in a soft blanket of white that looks like snow. I shake some from my hair as I take in the scene. I want to cry. However, because I am a spy, I push back the urge with malice.

I kneel beside a body. It is small and coated in white. I send a quick thanks to whomever it is that orchestrates this cruel puppet show we call life when I notice the ash coating his body hides the wound that killed him from my sight. I know the child I am looking at. His name is—was Thomas. He just turned six last Friday. I guess that doesn't matter now, but at the time he was so excited.

I had been in the village for a few weeks when Thomas knocked on my door. His face was bright with excitement, even though the man who ran the inn I was staying at was red faced and yelling at him about how he 'mustn't disturb the American guest'. After I communicated to the inn keeper that Thomas was a friend of mine and that it was fine, he wasn't disturbing me, I invited Thomas into my room. Thomas came in and flopped down in front of my fire, which was perpetually burning in its alcove.

"My birthday is in two days," Thomas informed me.

"Really?" I replied. "How old will you be turning?"

"Six," he answered me, holding up six fingers in case I hadn't understood.

"Do you have any plans to celebrate?"

"Mama says that I can have a big dinner with my friends and our neighbours," Thomas told me. "Will you come?"

I grinned at him. "Of course I will, buddy," I said, still grinning.

I pull myself out of the memory and close my eyes. At Thomas's birthday party, he was so happy—so alive. His mother had pulled out all of the stops. They didn't have much, but she was determined to make his birthday special. We ate a feast of lamb and carrots, potatoes and legumes. There was fish and Blini. Finally there was a cake. There were no gifts to be given, no brightly colored birthday cards, but there was dancing and laughter and family. I helped Thomas's mother cook dinner, and it took the majority of the day. Thomas sat on a stool and chattered away happily as he watched us cook. At the end of the night, once it was dark and the guests were tired as they headed for home, Thomas came up to me and threw his arms around my waist.

"Thank-you for coming," he whispered to me.

My arms tightened around his little body and I smiled so widely I felt like my face would split. "You're welcome, Thomas," I told him. I pulled back from him and then knelt so that my eyes were level with his. "Happy birthday," I said before heading out the door.

I shake my head as I stare at his broken body, lying still on the ground. Zach and I have talked about having children before. We've always decided against it because of what we do for a living, but it is at times like that that I wish our lifestyle were more kid friendly. _Maybe one day_, I thought to myself when Thomas hugged me that night. Now I know that the day Zach and I will have children will not be anytime soon. Possibly that day won't ever come.

I reach out and gently brush his hair back from Thomas's pale face. He wanted to be a doctor. His mother had him when she was very young, but she was in night school four days a week to be a nurse. In order to go to school, she had to commute into the city. Thomas told anybody that would listen how he would be a doctor so that he could be in charge of her for a change. His mother, Mary, was an informant of mine. I clap a hand over my mouth, hoping to keep the grief inside: Mary being my informant is probably what got this village burnt to the ground.

I have a sudden yearning for home. I haven't been there in eight months. I want to feel Zach's arms around me; I want his lips to whisper reassurances in my ear, to comfort me. I want him to be beside me when I wake up screaming from nightmares that still haven't gone away. I want to hear his laugh, see his smirk. I know that I can't though. Not until this mission is finished. It's hard though. It's so hard. I don't even know if he's okay, or where he is in the world. I haven't had contact with anybody except the Director since my mission started and he won't give me any information about anything other than the mission.

I force myself to turn away from Thomas's body. I remove my gun from its holster and move through the ashes, clearing the area and looking for signs of life. There are none, and there is no sign of whoever it is that did this either. All of the bodies are congregated in one area though: The city centre. Whoever set the fire must have herded everybody there before lighting the fire. I can smell gasoline in the air. That must be how they got the fire to burn for as long as it did.

I sit on the charred remains of somebodies wood burning stove. The bricks are black instead of their regular red, but I decide that it doesn't matter much. I'm wearing black anyways. A sudden image of Macey's expression at that thought pops into my mind. I find myself laughing, even though nothing about this situation is funny.

I guess it's either laugh or cry, though.

I watched as the village burned today. I stood on a ridge invisible to anybody who doesn't know of its existence. I had been out running recon all morning and most of the night. When I got back, the village was already on fire. I couldn't do anything to stop it. Instead I listened to the pained cries of those burning in the square. I heard their fear, their grief, and their anguish. And I did nothing. I let Thomas, and Mary, and the innkeeper, and the man who ran the school, and the woman who owned the bakery, and the old man and his wife who cared for the church ground die. I let them all die while I stood by and did nothing.

"Cammie?" my comms unit crackles to life and a panicked male voice cuts through my grief and self-hatred. "Cammie, baby, if you can hear me please say something," the voice cuts off and I don't respond. "Cammie?"

My throat seizes and I stare at the nothingness around me, suddenly exhausted. "I'm here," I tell Zach.

"Thank God," he says, relief palpable in his voice. "Cammie… are you all right?"

"Yeah," I tell him, trying to make myself believe it. "Yeah, I'm fine." It suddenly strikes me that it is Zach talking, not the Director. "Zach, why are you on my comms unit? The director is the only one I'm allowed to have contact with."

"I know. Believe me, I know. The Director showed up at our house early today though. He told me that the village you were staying in had been destroyed. He said that nobody knew where you were. Cammie, he told me that you were MIA—in the wind. I made him let me try to contact you. I've been trying for hours. Liz has been helping me, but we haven't been able to get a hold of you until now."

I nod. "I tried to update the Director early last night when I was out on recon, but I didn't have a connection. I was out of satellite range, high in the mountains," I tell Zach.

"Cammie, I thought you were dead," he tells me, his voice cracking.

"I'm not though," I say forcefully. "I'm fine. I'm alive. Nobody else is though, at least not anybody here. Everybody in the village is dead."

"I know. The Director wants to pull you out."

I sit up straight, muscles bunching in the same way they do before somebody attacks me. "They can't pull me out, Zach. I have to finish this."

"I know, baby. I told the Director that. He said you can stay on the mission if you really want to, but to tell you that he would prefer it if you came home."

I glare at the ground. "Tell him he can go to hell."

Zach laughs. "Cam, he might like you, but I don't think he'll let you get away with saying that to him."

"I've said it before."

"And you got a week of desk work because a doctor filed a report that your knee was out of commission."

"I know."

"Cammie?" Zach says after a long silence.

"Yeah?"

"Be careful, okay?"

"I'm always careful, Zach."

"I know, but right now you're also angry."

"I could hear their screams, Zach. But I couldn't help them. I just stood in the shadows and listened to them die."

"I don't want you to die too."

"I won't."

Zach sighs. "I love you, Cammie."

"I love you too."

"Hurry home, okay?"

"Okay."

That line goes dead and I force myself to my feet. "I'm sorry," I whisper to the ghosts of the people who lived here. "I am so sorry that you died because of me." I turn on my heel and walk away, out of the town and through the darkness that is beginning to fall.

* * *

**So what do you think? Like it? Hate it?**

**As promised, updating schedule. I apologize, but it will probably be pretty chaotic. From July 17th to August 5th, I will be in Kenya doing volunteer work with Me to We. I will be in the Maasai Mara region which is largely tribal land, so I will not be able to update as I will not have access to either electricity or internet for the time I am there. However, beyond that I will do my best to maintain a weekly updating regime. That said, I will be spending quite a bit of time at my cottage (which has no internet access) and camping (during which I will have internet access only sometimes). Once school starts up again in September though, I will be able to update weekly with relative consistency. Stick with me through the summer though. I'll do my best.**


End file.
